Hmmm, I wonder...

The following article from the Guardian is quite interesting, if true. But I wonder if there might be a misperception in how other animals have also speedily evolved certain traits, (we may be underestimating the time or overestimating the sophistication of the sociology of wolves, for instance) or if this "speed up" amongst humans is due to our self-predatory nature hastens natural selection. I look forward to hearing any interpretations by those of you with a better understanding of biology and evolution than I have (Cliff?).

o see this story with its related links on the Guardian Unlimited site, go to http://www.guardian.co.uk

The sophistication of the human brain is not simply the result of steady evolution, according to new research. Instead, humans are truly privileged animals with brains that have developed in a type of extraordinarily fast evolution that is unique to the species.

"Simply put, evolution has been working very hard to produce us humans," said Bruce Lahn, an assistant professor of human genetics at the University of Chicago and an investigator at the Howard Hughes Medical Institute.

"Our study offers the first genetic evidence that humans occupy a unique position in the tree of life."

Professor Lahn's research, published this week in the journal Cell, suggests that humans evolved their cognitive abilities not owing to a few sporadic and accidental genetic mutations - as is the usual way with traits in living things - but rather from an enormous number of mutations in a short period of time, acquired though an intense selection process favouring complex cognitive abilities.

Evolutionary biologists generally argue that humans have evolved in much the same way as all other life on Earth. Mutations in genes from one generation to the next sometimes give rise to new adaptations to a creature's environment.

Those best adapted to their environment are more likely to survive and pass on their genes to the next generation.

The evolution of a large brain in humans, then, can be seen as similar to the process that leads to longer tusks or bigger antlers. In general terms, and after scaling for body size, brains get bigger and more complex as animals get bigger.

But with humans, the relative size of the brain does not fit the trend - our brains are disproportionately big, much bigger even than the brains of other non-human primates, including our closest relatives, chimpanzees.

Prof Lahn's team examined the DNA of 214 genes involved in brain development in humans, macaques, rats and mice.

By comparing mutations that had no effect on the function of the genes with those mutations that did, they came up with a measure of the pressure of natural selection on those genes.

The scientists found that the human brain's genes had gone through an intense amount of evolution in a short amount of time - a process that far outstripped the evolution of the genes of other animals.

"We've proven that there is a big distinction," Prof Lahn said. "Human evolution is, in fact, a privileged process because it involves a large number of mutations in a large number of genes.

"To accomplish so much in so little evolutionary time - a few tens of millions of years - requires a selective process that is perhaps categorically different from the typical processes of acquiring new biological traits."

As for how all of this happened, the professor suggests that the development of human society may be the reason.

In an increasingly social environment, greater cognitive abilities probably became more of an advantage.

"As humans become more social, differences in intelligence will translate into much greater differences in fitness, because you can manipulate your social structure to your advantage," he said.

"Even devoid of the social context, as humans become more intelligent, it might create a situation where being a little smarter matters a lot.

"The making of the large human brain is not just the neurological equivalent of making a large antler. Rather, it required a level of selection that's unprecedented."

I still am unconvinced we've heard the full story on this most interesting of World War II mysteries. I don't think the Brits will ever allow us access to the records of their various wheelings and dealings during that conflict.

And yet another pop culture anniversary...

It started on this date in 1973. The TV commercial was excellent! It's a simple still shot of a mist covered pile of a home in Georgetown. A single figure stands etched in what little light emanates from the house. He's looking at it, as we are, wondering what the hell comes next.There's a voiceover, the announcer is calm and pretty subdued, but there's a hint of fear and trepidation in his voice. He says: "Something beyond comprehension is happening to a little girl on this street, in this house. A man has been called for as a last resort to try and save her. That man is The Exorcist." It was a great commercial, a great horror movie, and one of the most influential films of all time. Brilliantly marketed, masterfully hyped. For those of you too young to remember, lines snaked around the nation's theatres for weeks after its release. Thousands of people converted to Catholicism overnight. Loser parents with out of control kids suddenly just KNEW that it was actually His Satanic Majesty giving them lip and staying out all night smoking pot. Priests were beseiged by oldsters demanding their kids be beaten with crucifixes and boiled in Holy Water. Georgetown gained a new cachet as portions of it had been filmed there, and the house and steps on Prospect Street became a local landmark for the damned. (I actually got see a small scene filmed at the time - it's towards the beginning of the flick, as Ellen Burstyn is walking home along the Georgetown Canal). January '74 was just a very freaky month, (in a very freaky year).
The movie is impressive, and almost always makes everyone's Ten Best List for horror films. The book is even better, in my opinion. It's supposedly based on a real story, which is pretty much bullshit, the case has been adequately disproved as ignorant people building up their own self importance. If you haven't done so, check The Exorcist out, a great horror movie, (then check out the Saturday Night Live satire starring Richard Pryor...)

Believe It, Or Not....

"I Want To Hold Your Hand" was released as a single in America on this date in 1963. That's 41 years ago, Comrades. I keep returning to Jerry Garcia's famous line - What a long strange trip it's been....

Today is Steve Allen's birthday. I think the old Steve Allen show was one of the funniest and most interesting things ever on TV. Don't judge him by the pseudo-intellectual shows and comments he made from the 70's on, go back to his stuff in the 50's and mid 60's - it's brilliantly innovative.

Thursday, December 23, 2004

A Happy Punk Christmas To All!

Ah, those were the days...

Twas the night before New Years, when everyone's
drunk
Not a rocker was stirring, not even a punk;
The Baggies were hung by the phono with care,
In hopes that Saint Vicious, yes Sid, would be
there.
The Ramones were sold out, so we stayed in our sheds,
While visions of slammers still danced in our heads.

Susie with hash pipe and I, dressed in black,
Had just setteled down for a long-playing track.
When out in the alley there arose such a clatter,
I crawled from the couch to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I lurched with a crash,
Tearing a poster I'd had from the Clash.
The strobe light, the acid, the new snorted snow,
Gave a lustre of Day-Glo to the objects below.
When what to my unfocused eyes should appear,
But a miniature stage, and a band I could hear.
With a singer who danced; by the Pogo he did
I knew in an instant it must be Saint Sid.
More rapid than Springsteen, their rhythm it came.
And he snarled, and shouted, and called them by
name:
"Now Strummer! Biafra! Now Joey Ramone!
On Bators! On Patti! On Cook and on Jones!
To the top of the amps, kick over the wall!!!
Now ANARCHY, ANARCHY, ANARCHY ALL!!''
As punks that before a concert got high,
When they all started to Pogo, mount to the sky.
So up to the window, the rockers they flew,
With powerful speakers, and Saint Vicious too.
And then in a twinkling I heard on the trunk,
The swearing and cursing of each famous punk.
As I drew on my pipe and was turning around,
Down the vent shaft, Saint Vicious, he came with a
bound.
He was dressed in black from his head to his foot,
And a chain ran from his shoulder that was tarnished
with soot,
A black leather jacket was flung over his back,
And he looked like a heretic freed from the rack.
His eyes, how they flashed, his smile, how merry!
He staggered right in, his breath smelled of sherry,

His darkly blue hair was drawn up in a spike,
And the rest of the punks were attired alike.
A portable mike he held tight in his hand,
"Holiday in the Sun'' issued forth from the band.
To be followed by "Anarchy in the U.K.''
"God Save the Queen,'' "EMI,'' and "My Way.''
The band played so loud the albums fell from my shelf,

And I gasped when I saw him in spite of myself.
A wink from his eye, and some dope for my head,
Soon came me to know I should Pogo instead.
He spoke but a word, and that was "ANARCHY''
And gave us all tickets and hash for the day!
Then putting white powder inside of his nose,
And spitting it out, he said: "Fuck all discos!''
He sprang to his stage to the band gave a shout,
And away they all jammed till Saint Vicious passed
out.
But I heard him exclaim, with the last of his might,
"SCORCHING PUNK ROCK TO ALL, AND TOO AWFUL GOOD
NIGHT!!!'

Ancient mythology tells of an obese humanoid entity who could travel at great speed in a craft powered by antlered servants. Once each year, near the end of the winter solstice, this creature is said to descend from the heavens to reward its followers and punish disbelievers with jagged chunks of anthracite.

But that’s legend, Mulder—a story parents use to frighten children. Surely you don’t believe it?

Something was here tonight, Scully. Check out the bite marks on this gingerbread man. Whatever tore through this plate of cookies was massive—and in a hurry.

It left crumbs everywhere. And look, Mulder, this milk glass has been completely drained.

It gorged itself, Scully. It fed without remorse.

But why would they leave it milk and cookies?

Appeasement. Tonight is the Eve, and nothing can stop its wilding.

But if this thing does exist, how did it get in? The doors and windows were locked. There’s no sign of forced entry.

Unless I miss my guess, it came through the fireplace.

Wait a minute, Mulder. If you’re saying some huge creature landed on the roof and came down this chimney, you’re crazy. The flue is barely six inches wide. Nothing could get down there.

But what if it could alter its shape, move in all directions at once?

You mean, like a bowl full of jelly?

Exactly. Scully, I’ve never told anyone this, but when I was a child my home was visited. I saw the creature. It had long white shanks of fur surrounding its ruddy, misshapen head. Its bloated torso was red and white. I’ll never forget the horror. I turned away, and when I looked back it had somehow taken on the facial features of my father. I know what I saw. And that night it read my mind. It brought me a Mr. Potato head, Scully. It knew I wanted a Mr. Potato Head!

Scully, listen to me. It knows when you’re sleeping. It knows when you’re awake.

But we have no proof.

Last year, on this exact date, SETI radio telescopes detected bogeys in the airspace over twenty-seven states. The White House ordered Condition Red.

But that was a meteor shower.

Officially. Two days ago, eight prized Scandinavian reindeer vanished from the National Zoo, in Washington D.C. Nobody—not even the zookeeper—was told about it. The government doesn’t want people to know about Project Kringle. They fear that if this thing is proved to exist, the public will stop spending half its annual income in a holiday frenzy. Retail markets will collapse. Scully, they cannot let the world believe this creature lives. There’s too much at stake. They’ll do whatever it takes to insure another silent night.

Mulder, I—

Sh-h-h. Do you hear what I hear?

On the roof. It sounds like…a clatter.

The truth is up there. Let’s see what’s the matter.

By Frank Cammuso & Hart Seely
From the 12/16/96 issue of the New Yorker.

As many of you know, I love garage rock. If you don't know what I'm talking about and are over 40 years old, you can stop reading now, because you're dead and don't realize it. For the rest of you, this category name covers all the wild and wonderful rock and roll created by (mostly American) bands between the start of the British Invasion and the early 70's. Some of these folks managed to have several hits of note (The Buckinghams, the Beaus Brummels); other were essentially one hit wonders (The McCoys, ? & The Mysterions); some just had regional or local hits (The Hangmen, the Charlatans); and most were just known locally, releasing one or two singles that were sold at gigs. Both the recording and performance quality are all over the place, of course. But there's real heart in the records, and quite a few lost gems. The finest collection of these tunes was the legendary Nuggets* Collection put out by the famed critic and musician, Lenny Kaye, but there are hundreds of others that have meticulously catalogued this essential musical tableau. At any rate, the site listed above is a nice adjunct to learning about this stuff. Thanks to Peter & Perry for passing it along to me! Now, please excuse me, I must go put a Chocolate Watchband LP on the turntable...

*You do not have a serious rock'n'roll collection if you don't own this album

Sunday, December 19, 2004

And Here's To You, Mrs. Robinson...

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the premiere of the film, The Graduate. One of the most influential movies of all time. An entire generation of Americans avoided working in the plastics industry because of it. For those of you not part of the Baby Boom, viewing this will explain a lot. It's also just a very cool movie. I've seen it half a dozen times, and notice/appreciate new things each time. Neat film.

A Child's Christmas With MST3000

Every year the folks at the MST3000 website send out Tom Servo's rendition of a Child's Christmas In Space. Here it is:

With the holidays upon us, it's time once again for our annual holiday
tradition, "A Child's Christmas in Space" by Tom Servo.
-----
Tom: It's quiet in the cold of our own little orbit, starless and bible
black. And as I look down on the big blue bean we would call home I
think it so
near, yet... oh, I wish on that star and I hope that in a little
snow-covered
house with a warm hearth and a loving family, maybe some kid is looking
up
tonight and wishing upon us. Oh, and how I hope sweet Santa will fly by
tonight,
because if he does I'm gonna reach right out and hug that big guy. Oh,
for the
sound of hooves against the steel hull of the ship. Oh, to see the rosy
face of
Santa in the porthole, offering me a Coke and a smile... (gradually
becoming
upset) ...of course, his cheeks WOULD be rosy because it's a VACUUM out
there!
I mean, Santa's HEART would explode! (becoming hysterical) But HE
wouldn't
feel it because the capillaries in his brain would pop like little
firecrackers
(Joel tries to calm him down) due to the blood boiling away in his face
like
pudding in a copper...OH THE HUMANITY!! (Now both Joel and Crow are
trying to
calm him down.) And his jolly old belly would start bubbling like a
roasted
marshmallow, eyes bulging and popping out... AND THE REINDEER--OH THE
REINDEER!!!--keep floating like holiday floats and in turn exploding in
a hail of blood
and entrails! Prancer--BOOM! Dancer--BOOM!
Joel: HEY!
Crow: Tom!
Joel: Tom, take it easy! Santa's gonna be okay, buddy.
Tom: You sure?
Joel: Yeah, give him a little credit, okay
Tom: Phew, what a relief!
-----
And it is with that sense of relief that we want to offer you our best
wishes
for the Swayziest holiday season ever, if that's okay, and hopes for an
amazing colossal new year.

Sunday, December 12, 2004

It's A Winter Wonderland - NOT

For you who live in the D.C. area, the following story will be old news, but for those of you who don't share that joy, this is a special time of year in our region. I was driving along this morning and heard a weather report on the radio that there might be snow showers. Now, first of all, you have to understand how weather predictions work around here:
We have whole platoons of weathermen employed by all the local media. They totally dominate the airwaves and are lavishly supplied with satellites, ground stations and radar normally reserved for NORAD. At least one of our TV stations also employs an army of amateur observers - each carefully measuring any changes and deviations to the atmosphere, like a cadre of barometric commissars. Each of these weather teams vies for popularity and importance, mostly by hyping ANY possible change in the weather as if the earth were about to turn on its axis. Despite all of this, our local weather reporting is nearly worthless; its accuracy and track record would put a phrenologist to shame. As I leave each morning to go to work, I know that they cannot accurately tell me whether or not I'll need an umbrella by the time I'm returning home for the day. You might as well read the entrails of goats for results as good as a 12 hour weather report will do you around here. But there's more to merely predicting weather in D.C., and that brings me back to my morning drive.
The radio weatherman announced the one thing no native EVER want to hear - the possibility of snow! You outlanders have no idea what that means around here - the terror, the desperation, the madness. His exact words were, "There's a possibility of snow showers in the Western suburbs this evening." That's what he said. But whenever that happens, many Washingtonians only hear two words - DONNER PARTY, and act accordingly. Once a prediction like this is made, a variety of phenomena will occur. Residents will flock like angry locusts to every supermarket, drug store, and 7/11 in the region. The first priority will be to wipe out all stocks of toilet paper, milk and bread - this will be accomplished in minutes since the earliest arrivals will literally be grabbing hogsheads of milk and mountains of everything else. In 90 minutes all other goods, regardless of their value, will be gone too. An Ethiopian famine looks like a Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving painting compared to the shelves of a D.C. Safeway two hours after snow has been predicted. In fact, there are rumors that the Ethiopians once offered a food drive to help US out a couple of years ago. People were trading their children for week old loaves of Wonderbread, while more than one Georgetown matrons' jewelry collection was spent on a roll of Charmin. And this is before any snow has actually fallen!
If there IS precipitation at any point, than the situation assumes catastophic and surreal proportions. As soon as the first droplet of water lands on the first windshield, no matter where, ALL traffic will immediately slow down by 30 mph. Since all of our illegal immigrants insist on driving no more than 20mph but still adhere to the minus 30mph rule, this puts them in some sort of negative time/space fugue that's a cross between a Star Trek episode and a Stephen Hawkings nightmare. Despite this snail's pace, the accident rate will quadruple and soon every major artery into or out of town has become a parking lot of the damned. But that isn't the end of it - oh no, it gets worse. If those first few droplets multiply into actual snow, then we enter a stage of chaos that can only be described in the vaguesest of terms. You simply have to be here to truly understand it. First of all, the weathermen will be so shocked and amazed that their prediction was correct, it will explode any judgement or reserve they might have possessed and they'll start caterwauling about the coming apocalypse in terms rarely found outside of the Book of Revelations. Horrible predictions will be made, terrible visions will be revealed, some will speak in tongues while rolling on the ground. At least one radio meteorologist was rumored to have screamed about not wanting to view the coming "END TIMES" and shoved pencils into his eyes on the air while screaming about the return of the "Old Ones". This of course feeds into the panic already existing in the streets. More car accidents occur as people swerve into each other for no good reason. I suppose they're looking heavenward for the coming miracles and displays brayed about by the weathermen. Some just give up and ditch their cars in mid-drive. Within one hour of the first snowflake falling, this great metropolis is left with no food, no transportation, and a population whipped into a suicidal frenzy.
It should be pointed out that in my nearly 50 year lifetime here, there have only been about 3 snowstorms that have honestly kept people in their houses for three to five days. So the panicking becomes all the more weird. It may be as some say - that the District is full of alpha males and females, people who are used to buying or bullying their way into or out of anything. That won't work with snow, and so they panic, deflate and over-react. But for whatever reason, this phenomena will dominate our lives for the next four months. As I am typing this, I am safely ensconced at home - thank the heavens! For I just noticed a few drops of water have hit the window next to me. The collapse begins...

One of my all time fave fantasy authors. Wagner's Kane series of novels and short stories is Sword & Sorcery literature at its finest. I can't recommend his stuff too much. We lost Karl ten years ago, just like his protagonist Kane, he fought demons; unfortunately for him and his many fans, he lost his battles. But Kane lives on, shaking his fist at the heavens. He is a modern Prometheus.

This is like something out of a movie script. If this crystal is what I think it is, it is called the "Shew-Stone", the most famous real-world occult accouterment in existence, (I could be wrong - I believe John Dee may have tried using several such stones). If so, the price tag of $50,000 is laughably off, the thing would be worth well into six figures, and possibly seven, (I'd go so far as to saying it is worth however much free money the wealthiest ceremonial magician on earth has on hand). We're talking very serious mojo here, something like out of a real-life Lovecraft story. It'll be VERY interesting to see what happens, very interesting indeed....

The Return of U.N.C.L.E.

The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
VARIETY reports that Layer Cake director Matthew Vaughn is in talks to helm the feature version of the classic TV series The Man From U.N.C.L.E. for Warner Bros. Pictures.

Created in 1964, "Man From U.N.C.L.E." starred Robert Vaughn and David McCallum as superagents Napoleon Solo and Ilya Kuryakin, operatives for the United Network Command for Law & Enforcement. The show ran on NBC until 1968. VARIETY says that the film is expected to be a big-budget action thriller centered on the TV show's premise, which pitted Solo and Kurayakin against international crime syndicate THRUSH.

Thursday, December 09, 2004

They sing, they drum, they play the xylophone! The song is some sort of weird mix of Socialist Realism and Polka Freakout, and their costumeslook like they came from the Swiss Navy. Catch them at a mall opening soon!

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

December 9th is Margaret Hamilton's birthday. She is THE archetype Witch. There is no other. She is the alpha and the omega. She is the Ur-Witch. Few other actors and actresses are so identified with a character - and vice versa. If you have young children, it is of course mandated by law that you get them to watch the Wizard of Oz asap. Margaret will stick with 'em the rest of their lives. She is just so cool in that role.

Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown!

Tomorrow will be the 39th anniversary of the broadcast of the Charlie Brown Christmas special. I remember watching it back in '65, and one way or another, I've probably managed to catch it every year since then. It is one of the many small ironies in my life that that is probably my fave Christmas show, in spite of the fact that it is one of the most religious ones. If you think about it, most of the film and TV shows about Christmas have been bleached of any Christianity. The musical Scrooge as well as the Alistair Sims production only obliquely mention Jesus twice; The Grinch, Christmas Story, Rudolph, Frosty, Christmas in Connecticut, and Miracle On 34th Street - not at all. But there is something genuinely moving and touching when Linus quotes Luke - "Behold I Bring You Tidings of Great Joy", regardless of my own view of religion, (I am not made of stone, just asphalt).
A lot has been written about Charlie Brown, and I don't think I can really compete with most of the analysis. I agree that there is an undercurrent of darkness and pessimism behind Schultz's masterpiece, and I think that helps account for its super-popularity over many decades. It is carried along on a subtle current of angst and anxiety. But the Christmas special allows for a little honor in the face of cultural flatulence, a little courage in the face of the herd, and a little bit of happiness to break through the haze.
It's of course, helped along by one of the best soundtracks in the history of mankind by Vince Guaraldi. His works are part of our DNA now. Every year at the record store we'd get in box after box, and every year we'd sell out - even thirty years after the fact. It's hard to believe after all this time that anyone who wanted a copy hadn't already purchased one, but they just keep coming in, hauling away more. People just need to own it, it's that powerful.
My most memorable viewing was back in mid December of '77. I was finishing up my first semester at William & Mary. School was not going well, and it was not a happy period in my life. There was one exam left to go in two days. I decided to take time off and drove over to the local Sheraton to catch my boy Gary Lewis in a revival show, (and that's another story). At any rate, I got there about an hour before showtime and went to the bar to nurse a few fingers of bourbon. It was empty - not a soul but me and the bartender, a guy about my age, quietly polishing glasses and setting up for a slow night in Williamsburg. We exchanged pleasantries and I then sullenly nursed my drink. After a few minutes, he sheepishly asked if I minded if he turned on the bar's TV to watch Charlie Brown. I immediately brightened from my rather darkened mood and readily agreed. The two of us just sat back and watched the show - not another soul entered the bar that entire time. I really can't think of anything profound or even particularly interesting to say about that showing - It just seemed appropriate, and still does.
Well Schultz has hopefully gone to a place where all the footballs get kicked, all the kites stay out of trees, and where the Red Baron never wins. But we are left, at least for a brief moment each year, with Tidings of Great Joy.*

It's probably not a coincidence that this little story is coming out just a day or two ahead of Morrison's birthday. As many of you know, I'm a huge fan of the Doors. Yes Jim was a first rate asshole by all accounts - hyper-irresponsible, rude, bullying, and not particularly bright. But I still think his poetic imagery was wonderful and he had a glorious understanding of shamanry and it's place in pop culture. To a kid my age, discovering the Doors was an introduction to darkness, debauchery, and exploration. Both the music and the lyrics hinted at something just beyond Huxley's famous dictum, through those very Doors they'd named themselves for. The key was truly sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll. But, as has been said before, the gods tease the fool who lifts the veil. Morrison died a silly death amidst squalor. But on certain nights, I still return to the Soft Parade, the Celebration of the Lizard, and the WASP, and a little part of Morrison rides on the storm again...

Murvis Diamond Importers - worthless twits

Comrades,
Just out of curiosity, am I the only one who is completely bored and irritated listening to the radio and having those pompous ads from Murvis Diamonds come on? For those of you who aren't subjected to these little screeds, they consist of this oh-so-serious Brit (probably a fake accent) come on and say in clipped tones - "My name is Ronny Murvis. When I was three, my father sent me and my little brother alone out into the kalahari desert to dig for raw diamonds using nothing more than our bare hands and blades of grass. Then, under his gentle tutelage, we would fashion the raw diamonds with the stumps of our fingers and teeth, until they became flawless and polished. They were then set into rings and necklaces formed from the spinal column of our dear mother; to be brought to you at fabulous prices. After all, nobody pays retail anymore, they shoplift." What bullshit. And it's as if they have some control over supply. Everyone knows De Beers has a COMPLETE monopoly on diamonds in the world, and has vastly inflated the prices due to that simple fact. Yet good ol' Ronny drones on how his family's "private" diamond mines remain unknown and untouched, guarded by deaf mute eunuchs. The commercials are just so god damned self-important. You know that Ronnie and his family are just a bunch of twittish outcasts from Central Casting at Monty Python. I wish they'd just get off the airwaves and return to the traditional rum, sodomy and the lash. Ninnys....

As many of you know, I'm a big fan of local television ghost hosts. My favorite one is D.C.'s own Count Gore De Vol, who graced Washington television in the 70's and 80's. Well, Gore is still busy at his web site, and has started releasing DVD's of his old shows! They can be purchased at: http://www.countgore.com/video.htm. Yes, it's low budget, and sometimes downright lame - but it's real and done with heart, as well as being a tiny footnote of authentic local life and lore. Gore rules!

Happy Birthday John Cale

Unfortunately, Southisde Johnny is probably forever doomed to live and perform in the shadow of his friend and fellow Jerseyite, Bruce Springsteen. Which is kind of a shame, Southside is a wonderful avatar of blue eyed soul. Peter Wolf and the J. Geils Band were probably his only contemporaries of comparable worth. His recordings, particularly the first three albums, are superb and should be in any serious pop collection. One problem - Linda and I've had the pleasure of seeing Southside a few times now, and he isn't the most consistent performer. One time at the Warner he gave a performance that was perfunctory and sloppy. But the night we saw him at Merriweather was magical. He started the show with an EXPLOSIVE version of Stop! In The Name Of Love, the memory of which still send shivers down my spine. Every song that night was performed with energy, grit and soul. It was perfect. We didn't want to go home....

Friday, December 03, 2004

Here's the web page for the movie, Serenity, coming out next year. This is based on the now defunct sci-fi TV show, Firefly. It was a very charming series, (now available on DVD). Check it out, I think this movie is gonna be neat!

bad news about Fantasy Records

My old friend Erik just emailed me:

Concord Records bought Fantasy.

As everyone knows, Fantasy owns many great old jazz imprints (Prestige, Riverside, etc), R&B labels, Stax, and all the CCR stuff.

Concord was a truly great jazz independent – recording many of the lost giants who needed a home. The founder died in the late 90s and Concord was bought buy some conglomerate who deleted most of the stuff (I crazily bought a couple of hundred discs at $5 a pop when it was dumped at Dadeleus). Now, Concord signs Barry Manilow and issues bad Ray Charles discs. Now Fantasy is in their evil power, it their attempt at bad music domination.

Rob here again, I'd be very surprised if the CCR stuff went out of print, (but who knows). But the Stax stuff might well be in jeopardy. There are three wonderful box sets collecting together all of Stax's singles. All you fans might want to think about finally picking them up.

Today is Joanthan Frid's birthday. At the time, it just seemed so cool to suddenly have a vampire show up in a rather mediocre soap opera. Remembering racing home from school to catch the 3:30 showing still provokes a smile from me. I always wanted one of those half-cape coats that he wore. Frid managed to capture both tragedy and menace in his character. Of course, it was an incredibly cheesy little show; slow paced, repetitive plot, overuse of the same actors, etc. But for a year or two there, that was a neat program! (The movies weren't half bad, either).

Happy Birthday to one sick MoFo

Today is Gilbert O'Sullivan's birthday. One of the weirdest pop artists ever. Now those of you who are old enough will question that last statement. You'll remember him as a modest performer (in the early 70's) of light,lilting tunes. And musically, you'd be correct - but pay attention to the lyrics. Underneath that pop sheen lies a pretty creeped out dude! Look his hits over again:

Don't Panic!

About

Greetings!
This site will be devoted to all the funny, weird, disturbing, and unusual stuff I find or am sent. This will include pictures, games, comics, cartoons, articles, jokes, and anomalies. Enjoy!